


Alone

by roqueamadi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Jaime almost giving up, Jaime whump, M/M, Post-Season/Series 07, Sharing a Bed, minor wound description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 05:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16112114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi
Summary: Jaime is trying to make it to Winterfell, but the cold, his low supplies, and his injuries make it seem unlikely to happen. He starts to think there's no point trying to continue. He is alone.Until Bronn shows up in time to rescue him.





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little fic I wrote really quickly. Apologies for any typos.

Jaime managed to get away from the bear.

Well, most of him did. The thing had managed to take a fair-sized chunk of his flesh before he’d kicked it in the nose, stunning it long enough to run on shaky legs. He’d kept his supplies with him, at least.

He only stopped running hours later, slumping against a tree, sweat running down his face as he tried, by weak moonlight, to stitch the wound in his thigh closed. With his one hand.

He couldn’t stop to rest. He had to keep moving.

But more and more, as the days crawled past, he was starting to think there was probably no point. He was never going to make it to Winterfell.

His supplies were low, his horse had bolted long ago, and he was just so tired. And what did it even matter, anyway? Who would even spare a thought to where he’d got to? No one in the south and certainly no one in the north.

There was no point to any of it. He was alone.

 

“Jaime?”

Some of the dark haze dropped away, but only a little. He no longer felt cold, and whatever was nudging him in the side was annoying. He wished whoever it was would go away.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , Jaime, you fucking bloody cunt.”

Either he was being called to the afterlife by a particularly foul-mouthed spirit, or Bronn was here. Somehow. Impossibly.

He was lifted out of the snow. The wound on his leg flared red-hot. Everything turned black.

 

He roused again, and it was dark. His nerves were tingling in a way they hadn’t for a long while. His body no longer felt numb. He forced his eyes open, and found he was lying on his side by a cheerfully crackling fire. He tried not to give any indication he was awake. He tried to lie still, tried to figure out what was going on, but then something shifted and he realised it was a boot, just in front of him near the fire. He couldn’t help looking up.

It was Bronn. He’d thought perhaps he’d imagined him, or dreamt him up out of wishful thinking. But no, he was really here, dressed in warm clothes Jaime hadn’t seen before, his beard a little longer than usual.

When he saw Jaime was awake, he put a hand out to grasp his shoulder.

“Don’t move,” he instructed. “You’ll tear my stitching. Just stay there. Are you cold?”

Jaime struggled to focus on the words. Shame was welling up inside him, making it hard to focus on anything else. He couldn’t even do this one thing right. Let alone getting north; he couldn’t even go off and die quietly alone correctly. Bronn had come and saved him from just one more in his long line of mistakes.

Jaime wished it could have been someone— _anyone_ —else.

“Jaime, are you cold?” Bronn repeated, shifting closer and bending forward to look into his face. He stuck a hand under the furs and blankets Jaime was wrapped in, testing. Jaime froze in place as warm fingers brushed the bare skin of his chest. “You feel warm enough,” Bronn mused. “You want water? Here.”

He picked up a waterskin and held it to Jaime’s lips. Jaime turned his head aside, and when Bronn tried again, he rolled onto his back, all his muscles screaming in protest, and sat up.

“Oi, I told you not to move, cunt!”

“I’m fine, Bronn,” Jaime said, hoarsely. He pushed the blankets away, the cold air shocking on his skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m going north.”

“What, right now?”

Jaime got to his feet, staggering for a moment, the wound in his thigh burning.

Bronn stood back as Jaime struggled to stay on his feet and looked at him— _really_ looked at him, in that way Bronn had of somehow examining his soul.

“You’re going to tear those stitches,” he said mildly, raising a hand to scratch at his jaw. “I got them all done before you woke up, but you won’t be unconscious the next time. It ain’t me who’s going to be screaming when they have to get re-done.”

Jaime looked around for his clothes. Bronn had stripped him down to his underthings, and he was already starting to shake. He saw them lying in a pile on the other side of the fire, and staggered over to pull them on.

Bronn sighed. “Let me help you,” he said, moving toward Jaime again.

“ _No_ ,” Jaime said sharply, stopping Bronn in his tracks. “I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. I didn’t ask you to come.”

“Aye, I know you didn’t.”

“And I can’t pay you for your services.”

“I know that too.”

Jaime tugged his tunic on, not bothering to try to lace it before he wrapped his cloak around his shoulders. His whole body was shaking, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold, or the blood loss, or the anger burning in his chest.

“Then why are you here?” he demanded, his voice echoing slightly in the trees. Bronn’s horse, tied up behind them, jerked its head up at the noise.

Jaime felt foolish and pathetic and he just wanted to _leave,_ he didn’t want Bronn to see him like this, he didn’t want to have to be _rescued._

Bronn didn’t answer his question. Jaime shoved his feet into his boots and picked up his small, depleted bag of supplies, marching it unsteadily over to Bronn’s horse.

He would take the horse, and he would go. And he would never have to see Bronn’s eyes looking at him that way again.

Bronn walked over to where Jaime was trying to attach the bag to the saddle.

“I’m taking this,” Jaime said savagely. “Go back to King’s Landing. Don’t follow me.”

Bronn reached over to where Jaime was failing to tie the knot.

“ _Don’t_ —”

To his surprise, Bronn simply took over, tying the knot for him properly, then stood back. Jaime stared at him.

“If that’s really what you want,” Bronn said quietly. “Then go.”

Jaime waited for the punchline, but it didn’t come.

“I mean it,” Bronn continued. “Go. If that’s the Jaime Lannister I found out here, then I’ve got no interest in saving him anyway.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “There’s only one Jaime Lannister.”

“No,” Bronn said stubbornly. “I’ve met a few versions, myself. The one _I_ like, the one who’s _my_ friend, is the one who fights like a fucking mad cunt, no matter what. That one wouldn’t give up. That’s the one I came to look after.”

“ _Look after_?” Jaime scoffed. “I’m not a child.”

“No, but I’m here to look after him all the same.”

Jaime swallowed hard. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done anything remotely approaching ‘looking after’ him. Especially not without being paid.

He felt a lump growing in his throat. He felt the fight go out of his muscles. He couldn’t get up on that horse even if he tried. He slumped.

“Bronn, I— I don’t know what to do.”

“Aye, that’s what I’m here for,” Bronn said lightly, as though Jaime was rather slow for not understanding this yet, as his arms came up around Jaime. He pulled him into half an embrace and half a frogmarch, maneuvering him back to the fire and the furs.

“Sit your arse down there, I’ve got some jerky and some soup almost ready. You’ll feel better after you get some food in you. And get those breeches off, I need to check the stitches. What the fuck mauled you, a wolf?”

“Bear,” Jaime said hoarsely, kicking the pants off his legs carefully and pulling the furs around himself again.

Jaime sat sipping at the soup while Bronn checked the stitches, and Bronn tactfully ignored the tears dripping off Jaime’s cheeks and into the bowl. He wasn’t sure if it was the pain, or the food (he hadn’t eaten in days), or the sheer relief.

Probably all three.

Later, when the camp was sorted, Bronn slid into the furs with him. Put a rough hand to his cheek, thumb wiping the tear streaks away gently, then sliding around to cup the back of his head.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” Bronn asked quietly, his forehead brushing against Jaime’s in the cocoon of blankets.

Jaime let his left hand curl around a fistful of Bronn’s tunic. “I didn’t think you’d want to come with me,” Jaime replied.

“I want to,” Bronn said, and Jaime squeezed his eyes shut, and he pulled Bronn closer, as much as he dared, and he _wished._

His heart leapt when he felt the puff of warm breath against his lips. He opened his eyes again. Bronn hadn’t moved away. He was watching Jaime carefully in the firelight. Jaime tugged again on his tunic, subtly, trying to pull him closer, tilting his chin up in a way that he hoped was inviting.

Bronn’s lips brushed against his almost by accident. But seeing Jaime’s eyes close and the relieved sigh he let out was all the encouragement Bronn needed. He pressed forward more deliberately, kissing Jaime properly, and Jaime felt the lump returning to his throat.

“I wanted you to,” he said thickly. “But I thought—I thought I needed to do this alone.”

Bronn pulled him close, holding him tightly, brushing his lips over Jaime’s cheek.

“You’re not alone anymore.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and let me know what you thought, or chat with me [on Tumblr!](https://roqueamadi.tumblr.com/) ^_^


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